


Above the City

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [32]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: It’s in the quiet moments. The things unsaid between you. A quiet balcony where you both seek sanctuary above the city.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 10
Kudos: 178





	Above the City

It was your balcony first.

Okay. It really wasn’t. Technically, everything in the Tower belonged to Tony Stark, so it was Tony’s balcony first. And you knew that Clint tended to take his morning coffee on that very balcony, leaning against the railing and muttering things to himself as he tried to shake off the sleep. It had a great view of the city, and it was up high enough that a lot of the sounds from the streets below didn’t quite make it to anyone’s ears. That was why, most nights, you sat out there with a mug of some kind of comforting drink and used the space to clear your head.

Tonight, it was occupied. Loki was already out there. His back was to the door, naturally, but his form was unmistakable. At least he wasn’t sitting in your chair. Still, you hesitated on the other side of the sliding door, trying to decide what to do. You knew from experience that when someone was out there on the balcony, it was almost always because they didn’t care for company. No one ever joined you when you went out there at night, and no one ever bothered Clint first thing in the morning. But...your chair was out there. And this was part of your nightly routine. And if your presence on the balcony bothered Loki, he could always slink back to his own part of the Tower. You straightened your shoulders and pushed the door open. It was your balcony before it was Loki’s. You were wiling to share, if he was, but you weren’t just going to give it up.

He didn’t turn around when you stepped out. Likely he’d known you were standing at the door for as long as you were. Some part of you half-expected him to make some comment to you, maybe about how long it’d taken you to gather up your courage to join him, but you also weren’t surprised when he remained silent. You didn’t say anything to him either, even though an apology for your intrusion rested on the tip of your tongue.

Although the energy of the balcony felt a little different with Loki so close, you found it relatively easy to slip into the same routine as always. Sip your tea, stare out at the streets from between the bars of the railing, try to clear your mind of everything that had happened that day. After a while, it was like Loki wasn’t even there. When you’d finished your tea, you tipped your head backwards to rest it against the chair and looked up at the purple-grey sky. Loki stayed perfectly still, a statue leaning against the railing and looking out at the city. 

You joined him several more times over the next few weeks. You did cut back on your nightly use of the balcony, because you didn’t want him to think you were trying to run him off or anything, and you knew how precious solitude could be in the Tower, but on your worst nights, you pushed all your discomfort aside and took solace in the city air. He never spoke when you joined him, and he rarely even looked at you. 

The first time he did either, you felt like you were on the verge of an anxiety attack. There was no real reason for it. You’d just gotten back from an easy mission. Aside from the expected scrapes and bruises, no one had gotten hurt—except the enemies. But something about the tiny Eastern-European city, and the enemies you’d faced, and the information you’d been looking for, had set your thoughts racing and made your heart pound. You didn’t bother changing out of your suit or trying to make yourself something to drink: you basically just slid through the door and dropped into your chair, seeking any tiny semblance of normalcy.

Maybe he’d heard your heartbeat or how you struggled to breathe. But that night, Loki glanced over his shoulder at you, and arched one perfect eyebrow. The movement drew your attention even though you’d tried very hard not to stare at him out here. 

“No tea?” He asked. His voice sounded otherworldly out here above the city, but it was familiar enough to give you one more lifeline holding you to sanity. You shook your head. If you tried to answer him out loud, you knew your voice would crack and tremble, and you couldn’t stand the thought of that. He looked at you a little while longer. It felt like he was studying you. For the most part, he spent very little time looking at you inside the Tower. You tended to be the one staring at him. On a normal day, your heart went out to him, stuck here with the Avengers and a brother who had far too much enthusiasm for his own good. Tonight it was just about all you could do to keep your heart functioning like normal. 

But Loki went back to looking out over the railing, and you fixed your gaze on a building across the way. Things evened out. The oddness of sitting here near Loki had, in some sense, become a routine, and the familiarity of it began to calm you down. Your irrational, pointless anxiety died back down to something you could manage. Eventually, you were able to release your tight grip on the arms of the chair and tilt your head backwards like always.

The next night, the balcony was empty. That didn’t happen often. It seemed to become part of Loki’s nightly routine to hide there for a while before going to sleep himself. He and Thor were in the Tower, you knew (but certainly not because you tried to keep track of when and where their missions were, so you’d know when Loki was home). You took a moment to send some good vibes out into the universe for Loki. Maybe they’d find him, wherever he was, and let him know that someone was thinking about him. It was silly, but you allowed yourself that moment of silliness. No one would know. Rather than going straight for your chair, you leaned over the railing to look out at what Loki often looked at. Your heart surged with fondness for your city as you took it all in, but it made you wonder what he felt. Did he stand here, night after night, glowering out at the people on the street and wishing that his bid for domination had not failed all those years ago?

Surely not. That wasn’t him. By now, everyone in the Tower knew some of what he’d been through, mostly because Thor insisted on sharing the story in hopes of winning the team over to Loki’s side. 

The glass door slid open behind you. As much as you would have liked to be as cool and impassive as Loki always was, you weren’t. You turned to see who was joining you. Loki himself nodded at you as he stepped out onto the balcony. You were tempted to ask what had kept him so long, but by now a sort of unspoken agreement existed between you: you could both be out here, as long as you didn’t try to make conversation. Fine. You offered him a shy smile and then turned away again.

He stood beside you and sat something down on the railing by your hand. It was a mug of tea. It had been steeping for a while, too, if the rich color of the tea was any indication. You wrapped your hands around it but didn’t yet bring it to your lips for a taste. You hated burning your tongue.

“It’s cooled,” Loki said, curling his elegant fingers around a mug of his own. “I made yours first so it would have time to cool. It should be fine.” You turned your head to look at him with wide eyes. He didn’t meet your gaze. “Don’t look so surprised. Every night, you come out here with lovely, hot tea and every night you wait until it’s practically gone cold before you drink it. It drives me mad.”

Rather than musing on his words, you took a sip from your mug. He was right. It was, more or less, the perfect temperature. Perhaps it went without saying that you were kind of boggled over the fact that he paid that much attention to you. You would have bet money that he just stood out here lost in his own thoughts, but clearly there was at least enough room in his head to be irritated by your tea-drinking habits. He’d even added just the right amount of honey, enough to sweeten the drink without making it cloying. “It’s perfect,” you said in a low voice. “That was really kind of you. Thank you.” The words didn’t really feel like enough, but you put as much gratitude behind them as you could, and you had to hope it was enough. He just nodded. His face was tight, a little awkward, and you couldn’t blame him for that. To go from never acknowledging you to admitting that he knew how you took your tea...it was a pretty big jump. And then the uncomfortable realization came to you: Had anyone ever called him kind before? Maybe not here on Earth. Your heart broke for him just a little more, but you consoled yourself by curling around your mug.

It became a new routine. Whenever the two of you were in the Tower at the same time, you would both stand—or sit—out on the balcony at the end of the night. Sometimes, it was your turn to make and bring the tea. You found that you already knew how he took his, just as he’d known for you. You still didn’t speak much, but, when you did, it felt less like you were breaking the rules and more like you were chatting with a friend. Sometimes, rather than speaking, you got distracted by the structure of his face, the way the lights from the street lit up his profile. Sometimes, you stared. He often caught you, and, when he did, his lips always seemed to curl into a soft, knowing smile.

You began to catch him staring.

One night, when you handed him his mug, he let his fingers linger against your skin, let them trail up the underside of your wrist. There was an electricity in his touch that made the nerves in your body seem to crackle. When you caught his eyes, that soft knowing smile broke open wider, and he pulled you closer to him.

His lips tasted of tea and starlight.


End file.
